


Between A Rock And A Hard Place

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a hunt for a wendigo in the woods, a landslide traps Sam beneath a pile of dirt and rocks. Dean, unable to move the rubble himself, must wait with his injured sibling for help to come... and hope the wendigo doesn't find them first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt from Jenjoremy.

Sam heaved an exasperated sigh as Dean made his dislike of what they were doing known. Peering at his sibling from over his shoulder, Sam spoke, "I'm sorry wendigos haven't quite got the idea that they should hunt in the city, Dean."

His older brother scowled and pushed back a tree branch that was in his way, sending it whipping back and forth behind him from the force.

"Let's just find this bastard so we can go back home," Dean griped irritably and Sam nodded.

It wasn't like he particularly enjoyed stomping through the woods either. But they didn't have much of a choice, a wendigo was killing hikers in this forest and they knew the monster wasn't likely to be lured out of the trees.

After their last encounter with the wendigo in Colorado all those years ago, both Sam and Dean were hyper-vigilant, not wanting to be caught unawares again.

Unlike that near-disastrous hunt, the Winchesters had learned their lesson and Dean insisted that they go after the wendigo during the day, where at least they could see the monster if it decided to come after them.

The only thing that seemed to placate Dean a bit was the fact that he'd found a flamethrower in the Bunker and demanded that he should bring it along on the hunt. Sam had been skeptical about the weapon that looked as though it had been used during the First World War. Dean though, after much wheedling and pouting, had finally convinced Sam to let him take the thing along, reassuring his younger brother that it would turn the wendigo into a crispy critter much quicker than a flare gun.

"Yeah," Sam had commented, "And half the forest along with it."

Dean had only smirked and stroked the barrel of the flamethrower lovingly, causing his brother to roll his eyes.

Now, trampling through the dense forest through mud puddles so deep they reached his ankles and poison ivy bushes, Sam froze at the sound of a branch cracking off to his right.

Dean stopped silently behind him, equally on guard.

Five long minutes ticked by before either Winchester relaxed.

"C'mon," Sam muttered and continued on through the underbrush, eyes and ears keen for any threat.

SPN

Dean gratefully took a couple of gulps of warm water from the canteen Sam handed him.

They had been walking for hours now with no sign of the wendigo. The sun shone down fiercely, slanting through the leaves and branches of the trees overhead.

Dean wiped his forearm across his sweaty brow and watched as Sam took his drink from the canteen.

"Maybe it's moved on," Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head, "Not likely."

Dean sighed, knowing his brother was right, the latest victim of the wendigo had been killed only three days ago.

"Why don't we split up for a bit?" Dean asked, "You have the Walkie-Talkies, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied hesitantly, one hand going to the backpack hanging from one shoulder.

"We're not getting anywhere like this," Dean argued, "Besides, it's the middle of the day. If we split up, we'll cover more ground and kill this bitch faster."

Sam clearly wasn't comfortable with the idea of separating from his sibling but having a way to communicate with Dean- unlike during the hunt in Colorado- seemed to sway him.

Setting the backpack on the ground, Sam dug the two Walkie-Talkies out, handing one to his brother.

"If you see anything," Sam insisted, "Tell me."

Dean nodded, "I will."

"You have the flare guns loaded?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

Although flare guns were not as potent a weapon as the flamethrower, they could still do damage to a wendigo and were nothing to sniff at.

"Good," Dean said with a smile.

Sam returned the gesture queasily.

"I'll go this way," Dean began, pointing to the right, "You go opposite and we'll meet up here in, say, six hours if we haven't found anything."

Sam nodded in agreement and trudged off to the left.

Dean watched his brother until he couldn't see him any longer, only then did he start on towards the right.

W

Dean was starting to think that maybe he had been correct and that the wendigo had moved on to more plentiful hunting grounds.

Although no stranger to exercise, the young man's legs and feet complained, sore from walking over uneven terrain since early that morning. Sweat beaded on his face, dripped down his back and chest, making his t-shirt stick to his skin. A flock of midges had also found Dean and were contentedly buzzing around his head, landing on his face and hair and the back of his neck, attracted by the sweat that seemed to be pouring out of him.

The hunter jumped when his Walkie-Talkie crackled to life.

"Dean?" Sam's slightly faded voice called and Dean brought the radio to his face, speaking into it.

"I'm here, Sam," the older brother replied, trying to conceal how tired he was.

"I think I found something," Sam's voice told Dean and the elder Winchester immediately brightened up.

"Yeah? What?" he asked eagerly.

"Some of these trees have scratches on them," Sam informed him.

"All right!" Dean cheered, pumping the air with his fist; gouges in trees could be a sure sign of the presence of a wendigo.

"And…" Sam hesitated and Dean frowned.

"And?" Dean prompted, bringing the radio even closer to his face, "What Sam?"

His brother didn't reply for a moment and Dean frowned. In the silence he could hear a strange sound in the background, almost like, water.

"I think there's a dead animal nearby," Sam finally answered, "I can see blood."

"Okay," Dean said, "Listen, wait for me and I'll come to you. Are you near running water?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, his tone distracted, "There's a river, you can't miss it."

"Stay where you are," Dean told his brother, "The wendigo might be close by."

"Sure, Dean," Sam answered, his tone suggesting he wasn't really paying attention to him.

"I mean it, Sam!" Dean warned and startled when his brother broke connection with his Walkie-Talkie, not even static sounding now.

"Damn it," the older Winchester grumbled as he veered sharply to the left, hoping he found his brother before the wendigo did.

SPN

Sam had been walking for hours, hot and sweaty and tired as Dean was, when he stumbled upon the riverbank. At first he could hear the water, a constant rushing sound that grew louder and louder as he approached.

Frowning, Sam hadn't recalled seeing any river on the large map posted on a sign at the entrance to the forest.

He must be far off the trail, Sam realized.

The sound of the rushing water drew Sam to investigate. He had finished the last of the water in the canteen a couple of hours ago and he was starting to feel particularly parched.

Sam stomped past trees, finding no sign of a river beside the sound it made, like that of a giant cat purring, finding himself moving faster and faster until he was almost running.

"Whoa! Shit!" the hunter staggered to a halt, the toes of his boots hanging in thin air as he stood on the edge of what had once been a wide and deep riverbank, long eroded by the elements, the drop four feet down.

Sam swiped his damp bangs away from his face and peered at the river, squinting in the sunlight reflected off its glassy surface.

The bank was made of sunbaked mud, cracked and concrete-grey by the heat, the river itself about eight feet across, coursing over large black rocks. The sides of the eroded edges- where the water had used to reach, Sam guessed- were as low as four feet in some places and as tall as twelve feet in others, made up of large river rock and packed earth.

Glancing up, to track the river's course, Sam's gaze caught sight of something much closer. The tree he was standing beside- an oak whose roots poked through the wall of the riverbank that used to hold what might have been a surging tributary- bore five jagged gashes horizontally along its trunk. Sam frowned and leaned closer to the scratches, running his hand along the cuts, his fingers coming away sticky with sap.

Raising the Walkie-Talkie he carried, Sam turned the device on and tuned it to the correct frequency.

"Dean?" Sam asked and left unusually relieved when his brother answered.

As Sam spoke to his sibling he gazed along the river once before turning to peer to either side, frowning, the younger man caught sight of a dark red splash of colour on some low-lying leaves a few feet away from him.

Stepping closer, still engaged in conversation with his brother, Sam crouched and touched one of the leaves, wiping the sticky liquid onto his fingers as he did so.

"I think there's a dead animal nearby," Sam told his brother, "I can see blood."

Straightening up, Sam's gaze sought out more blood, drops and spatters leading away from the patch of foliage he was standing in front of, meandering towards the edge of the river.

Dean told Sam to stay put and the younger man nodded, telling his sibling he would, even as his concentration was now focused on finding the source of the blood- and possibly their monster as well.

Carefully, slowly, Sam approached the edge of the old riverbank, eyes easily catching spots of red on rock and dried earth leading towards the water.

Cautiously, Sam began to scale the bank, one hand outstretched to help keep balance. The four-foot high wall was no trouble for the hunter and he landed on his feet on solid ground. Glancing around, the younger Winchester frowned, trying to see where the trail of blood led.

There! Sam caught sight of tiny red dots creating a trail just along the water's edge, moving upstream. Hitching his backpack higher, the hunter began to follow.

W

Sam barely noticed that the walls of the riverbank were growing higher, towering over his head. He felt better now that he was out of the sun, the shade cast by the walls of the ancient riverbank cool against his hot skin.

The blood trail he'd been following was not more than just a series of spots; splatters and lines of it drew onward, telling the hunter he was nearly there.

Sam looked up and spied a dark shape laying half in and half out of the river, black fur matted to a rotund body.

Creeping closer, Sam gasped; it was a bear. And it was clearly dead. It's throat had been laid open, flies and water insects buzzed curiously around the open wound, attracted by the scent of blood.

Sam frowned and swatted a few fat blue bottle flies that tried to land on his face and then froze at the inhuman growling sound that came from behind.

With his heart in his throat, Sam peered over his shoulder and saw the grey, skeletal form of a wendigo standing only meters away, its sharp-toothed mouth red with blood.

Sam silently cursed himself for not paying attention and letting the monster get the jump on him. Not that it could be helped now. Slowly, Sam lifted one foot and set it down him, trying to move away, towards its kill.

The wendigo's beady black eyes followed the movement and it growled again.

Sam resisted the urge to close his eyes. He was such an idiot!

Without time to grab a flare gun from his backpack, Sam did the only thing he could think of:

Run.

The hunter suddenly jerked to the side, rushing into the river as fast as he could, racing right past the monster as it stood stunned- surprised perhaps by the human's sudden movement- before it came sprinting after him.

Icy water splashed Sam in the face, nearly blinding him, as his shoes slipped and skidded on the river rocks beneath his feet. He jumped when the wendigo screeched from behind him and he willed his legs to move faster.

Sam cried out as his feet flew out from underneath him and he fell, his head going beneath the river for a moment before sharp claws grabbed at him, dragging him back to the surface. Sam thrashed, trying to beat the wendigo away but it held on tight; it might have looked sickly and spindly but it had enough strength to chase down and kill a fully grown black bear.

Sam cried out as the monster pulled him up onto the edge of the river, one clawed hand hooked into the fabric of the backpack, the other gripping his long hair.

Blindly, Sam struck out, one hand grabbing the thin wrist of the wendigo and bending it backwards as far as it would go.

The monster screamed as Sam heard its wrist snap like a twig and it released him. Bloody and sopping wet, Sam staggered clumsily to his feet, running towards the high wall of the old bank, scrambling to climb up the twelve-foot high wall.

Sam scrabbled at the crumbly packed earth, praying for purchase when he was suddenly jerked backwards, the wendigo grabbing onto the backpack.

Grinding out a wordless cry, Sam threw himself forward against the wall, smashing his face into the hard-packed dirt as the straps on the knapsack broke, sending the monster stumbling away.

"C'mon," Sam panted as he tried desperately to climb the riverbank, "C'mon."

The wendigo screamed from somewhere above Sam and the hunter looked up to see the monster peering down at him from the edge of the bank- it had jumped the twelve feet to the top- and froze, knowing it meant to leap onto him and pin him.

The creature crouched, ready to do as the hunter feared when a gunshot rang out and the monster screeched, scrabbling at the crumbling dirt as it did so.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, running towards him along the top of the riverbank.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, relief rushing through him.

A scream that sounded like a woman in agony sounded above Sam, forcing him to clap his hands to his ears and the wendigo slipped from its perch, talons scrabbling at the edge as it fell.

Sam's moment of relief dried up instantly when he heard a grinding sound and the wall the wendigo had been sitting atop rushed down to meet him.

SPN

"SAMMY!" Dean cried his brother's name as the ancient edge of the riverbank, made unsteady by years of erosion and heat from the sun, came down on top of his sibling.

He barely noticed the wendigo loping away from the landslide, whimpering like a small child.

"Sam!" Dean repeated his brother's name as he approached the site of the accident, raising one arm to shield his eyes and mouth from the spreading dust.

The older Winchester's hazel eyes widened in shock at the sight before him: Sam lay on his back, his eyes closed and covered by his hair, the lower half of his body and his left arm pinned beneath earth and stone.

"S-Sam," Dean choked out and ran to his brother's side, dropping to his knees beside him.

Reaching out, the older Winchester brother, brushed Sam's hair away from his face and cringed at his bloodied, broken nose and blackened eyes, a gash across his right eyebrow oozed blood down the side of his brother's forehead.

"Oh God," Dean murmured and pressed two fingers to his brother's throat, searching for a pulse.

Sagging with relief when he found one, the older brother looked up, his heart squeezing with fear at the sight of everything below Sam's waist hidden beneath crumbled earth and large river rocks.

He had to get Sam out. Standing shakily, Dean moved closer to his brother's side and began shifting the rubble away from his sibling's trapped left arm.

"D-D'n."

A quiet voice made Dean pause and he looked over his shoulder to see Sam squinting his eyes, frowning, brow furrowed in pain.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and rushed to his brother's side.

"D'n," Sam whimpered and gave a sharp cry.

"C-Can't f-feel-" the younger brother gasped but Dean shushed him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him though his voice threatened to crack, "Just stay still."

Sam nodded his head minutely and closed his eyes again. Dean remained where he was for a moment before returning to the task at hand.

Shoving large chunks of almost fossilized dirt and rocks away from his brother's left arm, Dean couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips when he revealed the appendage.

Sam's arm lay at an unnatural angle- most certainly broken- while blood had coated the sleeve of his plaid button-up shirt, his hand swollen and almost black with bruises.

Dean reached out but stopped just shy of touching his brother's hand, certain that it would only cause Sam unnecessary pain.

Sitting back on his haunches, the older Winchester wiped a dusty hand across his face. Just judging by the size of some of those river rocks there was no way he'd be able to lift them off his brother on his own. He needed help and he needed it soon. The sun was well past its apex and it would be dark soon. The wendigo, although maybe injured, was not dead and Dean was certain that it would return to the river and try to pick off his brother as easy prey.

Raking a hand though his short hair, Dean knew the best thing- the only thing he could do- was to call for help.

Digging in the pocket of his jeans, Dean felt tears well up in his eyes as he grabbed his phone and opened it.

"No!" He cried when he saw that he had no signal- unsurprising- but so disheartening.

Dean stood and held his arm out, searching for a signal- a bar; just one- that would allow him to call for help.

Reluctantly, he stepped away from his sibling, closer to the river, holding his phone over his head, praying for a bar.

Dean searched and prayed for a signal for ten long minutes, unwilling to move too far from his injured sibling until he caught sight of the crumbling edge of the old riverbank. He could climb up now, get at least twelve feet higher than he was now and maybe, just maybe he'd be able to get a signal.

Lowering his phone, Dean went to his brother's side.

"Sam?" he whispered, "Sammy?"

His brother was unconscious. Sam would not notice if he left for a moment or two- crucial minutes- to call for help.

Taking a deep breath, Dean tore his gaze away from his brother's battered face before approaching the area where a portion of the ancient riverbank had fallen in, most of it landing on top of his sibling. Stuffing the cell phone back into his pocket, Dean reached out, grabbing onto scraggly roots that were sticking through the rubble and pulled himself up, careful not to send anymore tumbling down onto his brother.

The hunter was panting by the time he had scaled the ruined wall, adrenaline now starting to wane. Carefully he moved a few feet away from the crumpled part of the bank, keeping his brother in sight, however, and stood a foot from the edge, taking his phone out again.

Opening his phone, Dean bit his lip as the cell searched for a satellite.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, gaze flitting back to his brother every ten seconds or so, as he waited.

Dean almost fell to his knees as one bar and than a second bar appeared on his phone and he hastily dialed for help.

"Hello? Hello, can you hear me?" Dean asked loudly, the 9-1-1 Operator's voice that greeted him sounding fuzzy and distant.

"My brother needs help!" Dean told her, "There was a landslide in Ogilvie Park! We're by the river!"

The 9-1-1 Operator said something but a wave of static made it impossible for Dean to hear her and his phone beeped irritably, both bars vanishing, the signal lost.

The hunter stared at his phone, hoping and praying he'd gotten through and that help was on the way.

Eyes traveling back to his brother's prone form, Dean carefully made his way back down to the riverbank, grimacing as his movement dislodged small stones that rolled down to bounce off his sibling's exposed chest and face.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, kneeling at his brother's side.

His sibling's eyes remain firmly closed and although he appeared to be sleeping, Dean knew it was a far more insidious form of unconsciousness.

Glancing around, Dean spied Sam's backpack lying forgotten amongst the rocks at the edge of the river. It was torn up pretty good and the straps are frayed from being broken but Dean grabbed the pack and brought it over to his brother.

Unzipping the knapsack, Dean dug around inside until he pulled out the canteen, shook it and frowned when he found out it was empty. Peering over his shoulder at the rushing river behind him, Dean sighed.

At least we don't have to worry about water, Dean thought tiredly and climbed to his feet, crossing the small, smooth stones and crouching at the river's edge to fill the canteen.

Returning to his brother, Dean rummaged in the backpack half-heartedly again before pulling out a couple of energy bars- Sam's- and a pack of Twizzlers- his- and sat them aside.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and reached out, smoothing his brother's brow gently, "Help's coming."

W

The older Winchester looked up when he heard a splashing in the river behind him.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the hard, cold ground beside his brother, staring into Sam's face but the sky had darkened, the high ancient walls of the old riverbank creating an early evening even though the hunter could see orange and pink light slanting through the trees atop the riverbank to the west.

Dean's eyes narrowed, trying to catch sight of movement in the gloom, but all he could see was the whitecaps curling and swirling as the river flowed on by, indifferent to the Winchesters' plight.

Turning his gaze back to his sibling, Dean startled a little when he saw a flash of glassy green. Sam was awake.

"D-De," Sam rasped, his expression bewildered and frightened.

"I'm right here," Dean leaned over and placed a hand on his sibling's cheek, "Don't worry, Sammy."

Sam's eyes slip closed again but Dean could see his rest wass anything but peaceful, his brother's face tight and pale with pain.

"Help's coming, Sammy," Dean murmured, praying that he was right.

W

Dean snapped out of his doze as though he'd been electrocuted, a loud screech from close by sending a chill up his spine and causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention.

The wendigo, it was back.

Dean stood and narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness that had gathered in the bottom of the riverbed; the sky above a deep violet, foretelling the fast-approaching night.

With one hand, Dean gripped the flamethrower's strap over his shoulder tightly; ready to barbeque the bastard if it dared to come any closer. Slipping the weapon from his back as a precaution, Dean held the flamethrower out like a shotgun, squinting into the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," Dean growled quietly, "Come on."

The hunter caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye, to his right and saw a flash of the wendigo's pale skin as it darted forward.

Dean pressed the trigger on the flamethrower and angry orange flames shot out of the nozzle, illuminating the riverbank. The hunter startled at just how close the monster had managed to get to him, before it leaped back with a blood-curdling shriek, clawing at the air with its taloned hands.

Dean lunged forward but the monster was quicker and it jumped backwards, beady eyes oily as they reflected the flames.

The creature screamed once again before turning tail and running. Dean didn't release the trigger until he could no longer see the wendigo in the light cast by the flamethrower.

Sighing, he sank to his knees, exhausted and terrified for his brother.

W

Dean stretched his legs, walking towards the edge of the water and kneeling down, dipping his hands into the cool rushing liquid and splashing it onto his face.

"Ahh," he voiced, raking both hands through his short-cropped hair, feeling a little more awake.

Sam remained asleep, however, and Dean had taken to checking his pulse every minute or so. It was still there, thank God, but was growing steadily weaker.

Dean opened his eyes and bit his lip; maybe he should start trying to move some of that rubble away from his brother.

A piercing scream made the hunter nearly jump out of his skin and he whipped around, spying a flash of pale grey as the wendigo approached again.

Hurrying forward, Dean fumbled with the flamethrower he had kept at his side, finally pressing the trigger down, his mouth opening in horror as the blast of fire illuminated the monster, standing with one clawed foot atop his brother's chest.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, a mixture of anger and fear and sprinted forward, wanting to- no, needing to get the monster away from his sibling.

The wendigo stared at Dean and the orange flames for a moment before leaping to the side, stumbling as it did so over Sam's prostrate form and falling to its hands and knees, keening when its injured arm struck the rocks covering the ground.

Dean didn't stop, he ran forward, a snarl rising in his throat, towards the monster, the wendigo once again on its feet and backing away from him.

Dean darted forward and the flames spouting from the nozzle of the flamethrower first licked at, and then curled around the retreating wendigo.

The monster screamed like a woman and tripped as it fought to retreat, orange and yellow flames racing across its grey skin.

Dean watched as the fire spread, as though nourished by the monster's own leathery hide, quickly consuming it. The wendigo let out one last pathetic cry before falling to the ground, lifeless.

The hunter watched as the fire burned itself out, all that was left of the wendigo were blackened bones. Dean kicked at them and they scattered across the river stones, leaving only the faintest scent of scorched flesh in the air.

Prying his hand away from the trigger of the flamethrower, Dean sagged with relief; at least Sam was safe from that monster.

Sam…

Dean turned around, terrified that the wendigo had had a chance to hurt his brother and ran to his sibling's side.

Fumbling in his jeans' pocket, Dean finds his cell phone and pulls it out, opening it and turning on its flashlight app.

Harsh white light illuminates Sam's pale face, the bruises and blood standing out in stark contrast against his milky skin. Moving the light downwards, Dean cringed at the sight of his sibling's torn shirt, red lines of blood visible through the fabric where the wendigo clawed his chest and side.

"S-Sammy," Dean choked, raising one hand and pressed trembling fingers to his brother's neck.

The older Winchester waited for one minute…. Two minutes… Three minutes… but couldn't feel a pulse.

Lifting his hand, Dean laid his palm against Sam's brow, feeling it cool and clammy beneath his hand.

No, no, this couldn't be happening. Sam couldn't die, not now; Dean felt hot tears well up in his eyes.

"Please," Dean moaned, "Please, Sammy, please come back."

The hunter bowed his head, feeling no warm breath on his face and let his tears fall.

He'd failed; he couldn't protect his brother. After everything that had happened, after everything they had been through together… it had all amounted to nothing.

"Hey! Hello!"

Dean reached out and wiped his brother's face clean, his chin still trembling as tears continued to threaten to fall. He didn't even hear the sound of distant voices shouting at him.

Faintly, so quiet Dean almost missed it, Sam groaned.

"Sammy?" he gasped and leaned forward, "Sam? Can you hear me?"

A second groan accompanied the first and Dean swiftly pressed his fingers against his brother's neck… there it was… Sam's pulse, so faint he had missed it completely, thought it hadn't been there at all.

Fresh tears welled in Dean's eyes, tears of relief and happiness and he wiped his arm over his face, chuckling a little.

Sam was a fighter, always had been and always would be. It would take a hell of a lot more than a landslide and a hungry wendigo to take him out.

"Hey! Can anybody hear me?"

Dean looked up sharply. He could have sworn he heard voices.

Ears keen for the telltale call of a human voice, Dean waited.

And heard nothing.

He was mistaken.

Exhausted and worried as he was it was easy to miss things, or hear things.

"Hello! Is anybody out there?"

Dean's eyes widened. No, it was definitely voices. Human voices.

Help had come at last.

Sitting back, Dean cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back.

"HEY! WE'RE HERE!"

He listened for a reply but none came.

He was almost certain he had heard voices.

Frowning, Dean raised his hands a second time, pausing as he did so.

Maybe they didn't know where they were, he realized, maybe they couldn't find the river in the dark.

Dean needed the help to find them; Sam would not last much longer if they didn't.

But how could Dean attract their attention, point them in the right direction?

The hunter's gaze fell on his brother's backpack and he suddenly remembered the flare guns.

Grabbing the pack, Dean pulled one of the bright orange guns from the bag and stood, pointing his arm straight up while holding the signaling device.

Please let this work, he prayed and fired a single shot, watching as a smoky red trail rose into the night sky before bursting into a dazzle of neon red that hung suspended, showing their rescuers their location.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hold on, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother, "Help's on the way."

The hunter looked up at the sound of approaching footfalls and saw six separate flashlight beams illuminate the darkness along the edge of the old riverbank.

"Hey!" Dean called, "We're down here!"

"We found them!" a male voice called out and Dean sinks to his knees with relief, sighing raggedly.

The rescue team, paramedics trained to find hikers and campers lost in the wilderness, descend the old, crumbling riverbank and surround the Winchester brothers.

"I'm alright," Dean insisted as two paramedics- a man and a woman- approach him, offering him a blanket and a thermos of coffee.

"Can you help Sammy?" is the only thing Dean wanted to know.

The female paramedic gave Dean a sympathetic look, "We'll get him out."

W

It irritated Dean to no end that he wasn't allowed to help the paramedics. Whenever he tried he was gently pushed away, told to rest and drink some of the coffee he'd been given.

But De was a Winchester, stubborn as they come, and Sam was his brother and he'd be damned if he didn't help in some way.

Instead of helping to shift the rubble trapping his sibling, he sat by Sam's head, sipping at his thermos of coffee and talking to his brother who had appeared to be unconsciousness again.

The rescue team worked slowly, maddeningly slow in Dean's opinion, but he knows they could not rush what they were doing. They were completely focused on Sam. No one had asked what Dean was doing with a flamethrower in the middle of the forest and for that he was grateful. Awkward questions could wait; all he wanted was to know that his brother would be alright.

W

The team worked throughout the night, carefully shifting the rubble, concentrating on their task.

As more of his brother's battered body was revealed, Dean's heart clenched smaller and smaller.

The ground beneath his sibling was stained a dark red, the dirt greedily drinking in his spilled blood, and more bloomed bright crimson as the pressure was lifted from bones and limbs, quickly staunched by the paramedics, their faces grim in the light of the torches.

Just as the grey sky was streaked with pink, Sam was gently placed on a bright yellow canvas stretcher, a brace around his neck to protect his spine, and lifted by two male paramedics.

Dean stood tiredly, grabbing his brother's ruined backpack and stuffing the flamethrower into it as best he could before following along behind the rescue team members, exhausted and stumbling.

A hand fell on Dean's shoulder and he looked up tiredly, seeing the female paramedic who had first spoken to him. Although she said nothing now, Dean felt as though she were giving him a boost of confidence, letting him know silently, that Sam was going to be okay.

W

The trek through the still-dark forest was longer than Dean would have liked. Shadows still ruled the woods and every one seemed to the hunter to be a savage wendigo, ready to leap from the cover of the trees and tear his small family apart for good.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs caused by lack of sleep.

The hunter didn't know how he managed to make it to the meadow; he stumbled and tripped over exposed tree roots, his face and clothes slashed at by branches, as he was made clumsy and uncoordinated by exhaustion.

On autopilot, Dean walked behind the paramedics carrying his brother, eyes heavy and gritty with sleeplessness.

The older sibling nearly walked into the paramedic standing in front of him as the group stopped, staring out into a wide meadow, a red Emergency Rescue helicopter sitting among the tall grass.

They'd have to fly out, Dean realized but barely cared, not even his fear of being airborne could make itself known to the weary hunter.

He followed the paramedics as they crossed the field and the rear door of the helicopter was opened so Sam could be loaded inside.

"Coming?" the female paramedic called and Dean looked up sharply; he hadn't realized his brother was already safely secured in the back of the helicopter and they were ready to leave.

Reaching up, Dean took the woman's hand and she helped pull him up into the helicopter, encouraging to take a seat near his brother's head and strap himself in.

As the pilot prepared to lift off, the helicopter shaking threateningly, Dean's eyes locked onto his brother's face.

"It's okay, Sammy," the older Winchester whispered as he grabbed the edges of his seat as the rescue helicopter began to rise up from the ground, "We're on our way to a hospital. You'll be alright."

W

Dean couldn't have said how long it took to fly to the hospital, it may have been only minutes or hours, the entire time he kept his gaze focused on his brother's pale, battered, blood-streaked face, to help take his mind off his fear of flying.

And it worked.

His concern for his sibling trumped the paranoia that always reared its ugly head whenever his feet left solid ground.

Dean looked up, surprised, when the helicopter bumped lightly onto the landing pad atop the local hospital. Unstrapping himself from his seat, the hunter quickly took up position beside his brother, knowing that it wouldn't be long before hospital personnel separated them.

Dean reached out and took hold of his brother's right hand, squeezing it gently.

"We're here, Sammy," he murmured tiredly to his unconscious brother, "The doctor's are gonna fix you up good as new really soon."

Dean exited the helicopter right after his brother, the paramedics carrying Sam on the stretcher still.

Looking up, Dean noticed that more people had joined them on the roof of the hospital. A male doctor of Chinese decent, who looked far too young to have passed medical school and a curvy nurse peered down at Sam, talking to one another. Four porters had also arrived to help transport the injured hunter into the hospital.

Dena jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder- expecting that female paramedic again- he was surprised to see a woman doctor with thick-rimmed glasses, steel grey hair cut in a bob that ended at her earlobes and eyes the colour of warm chocolate.

"I'm fine," the older Winchester stated instantly, his eyes following the doctor, nurse, and porters who were now moving closer and closer towards the doorway that led into the hospital with Sam.

The female doctor smiled, "Humour me."

Sagging, Dean decided that it wouldn't hurt to do as the doctor asked- at least it'd be better than waiting anxiously for word on his sibling- and followed the doctor into the hospital.

The doorway led directly into a large service elevator; Dean felt his heart shudder when his brother disappeared behind the steel-grey doors with his team of medical professionals, leaving the older Winchester to wait on the roof.

"Where are they taking Sam?" Dean asked the female doctor.

"He'll be on his way to surgery," the woman told him, "Don't worry, Dr. Tang is the best trauma surgeon we have."

Dean nodded, not quite sure if he believed that a doctor who looked fresh out of high school was as good at what he did as this woman said he was.

The elevator doors opened and the hunter and the doctor stepped inside. Dean leaned against one wall, his legs trembling at the knees.

"He's your brother," the doctor said and Dean nodded tiredly, "How did you know?"

The woman smiled, taking her glasses off and wiping them with a pink slip of cloth from the pocket of her white coat, "It's not hard to tell. I have a younger sister and more than once I've had that exact same expression you're sporting right now whenever she's been in trouble."

"Oh," Dean muttered.

"So," the doctor continued casually, "What were you doing out in Ogilvie Park? Fishing, camping… hunting?"

The young man's head snapped up and he stared at the woman.

"There's a lot of pheasant and wild turkey out in the park," the doctor explained calmly, "My husband often goes there during season for them."

"We were just hiking," Dean lied, "We'd heard that the area was nice and decided to check it out."

The doctor nodded and scowled before, "A lot of young people go out there to drink and party."

"But it's been dangerous lately," she continued, "The police are saying there's a cougar out there that's been attacking campers and hikers."

Dean knew what she was thinking; why were he and Sam out in the forest if they knew it was so dangerous?

"We're not from around here, Doc," he said, "We didn't hear about any animal attacks."

The woman nodded and smiled when the elevator stopped at the correct level and the doors opened.

"If I didn't know better," the doctor said as she stepped out of the lift, "I'd say you two ran afoul of that cougar yourselves."

Dean followed the woman but said nothing. She must have noticed Sam's torn shirt and the bloody gashes on his side. The doctor was observant; he'd give her that.

They walked down a long hallway that smelled strongly of bleach before the doctor opened a door and ushered Dean inside. The young man paused at the sight of an exam room like the ones found in many clinics.

The woman smiled, "Don't worry, I'm not going to give you a physical or anything. You're dead on your feet and could use a quiet place to rest while you wait for your brother, right?"

Dean nodded. He did need to sleep. He seemed hardly able to keep his eyes open.

"Go on," the doctor said with a movement of her head, "I won't let anyone disturb you."

Dean stepped into the room, deciding that although the doctor was a little odd, he liked her.

"Thank you," he said with sincerity and the woman quietly closed the door.

The hunter peered around the room before walking over to a padded chair set aside for patients who weren't too keen on getting up onto the exam table right away and collapsed into it.

The elder Winchester scrubbed a hand over his face wearily and leaned back, trying to get comfortable though now he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep after all.

W

Dean woke with a start, confused and unsure of where he was. Glancing around it took him a moment for him to remember he was in a hospital and in an exam room in particular, waiting for his brother to be released from surgery.

Sitting up in the chair- he had managed to slip down as he slept- Dean fished his cell phone from his pant's pocket and swore when he saw that he had been asleep the entire day!

Standing and ignoring his back as the tense, cramped muscles stretched, Dean stepped out of the room and peered down the hallway.

The hospital was quiet now; although the lights were still shining in the corridor, many patients' doors were closed for the night and Dean didn't see another soul in the hallway.

Glancing up, he spied a dozen signs pointing up and down the hall with arrows, directing visitors to their destinations.

Dean just needed to find a nurses' station.

Deciding that the left looked promising, the hunter took that direction, passing closed-off doors and empty gurneys.

"Hello?" Dean called, hoping there would be a nurse on duty nearby.

He continued down the hallway, angry at himself for sleeping so long and angry with the doctor for not coming to get him when Sam was out of surgery.

Was Sam's surgery over?

He'd been pretty beaten up and Dean wasn't sure how long it would take to help but his sibling back together again.

Dean shook his head, his mind still foggy from sleep and he picked up the pace.

Maybe Sam wasn't finished in surgery yet, Dean thought, or maybe he was out but he wasn't okay. Maybe that was why no one had come to get him, because instead of a hospital room, his brother was laying in the morgue.

Dean skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway. It opened into a circular area with chairs for waiting visitors and patients and had a large nurses' station along one wall.

"Hello?" the hunter said and the woman at the desk looked up, her eyes going wide when she saw his face.

"I'm looking for my brother," Dean told her as he stepped forward, "Sam Winchester? He was brought in here this morning… I don't know where he is now."

The nurse- a girl who couldn't be older than twenty-five- continued to stare at Dean as though he had two heads.

"Nicole," a familiar voice called from down the hallway behind Dean, "It's alright, he's with me."

The nurse- Nicole- nodded and after another curious glance at Dean, returned to her work, with a polite, "Yes, Dr. Gibson."

The elder Winchester turned around and spied the female doctor who had found him the empty exam room to crash in.

"Hey!" he snapped, storming over to the woman, "Is Sam still in surgery? Where is he?"

Dr. Gibson, to her credit, didn't look intimidated by the hunter at all.

"I thought you needed the rest," she told Dean quietly, "Yes, your brother came out of surgery about forty-five minutes ago but when I last checked, Dr. Tang said he hadn't woken up yet."

"Take me to him," Dean demanded, "Now."

Dr. Gibson nodded, "Dr. Tang will want to talk to you himself but I can take you to him."

The young man trotted along beside the doctor as she led him towards the same elevators they had used to enter the hospital and stepped into the lift once again.

"Is Sam going to be okay?" Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest as he waited impatiently for the elevator to descend.

Dr. Gibson gave Dean a sad smile, "I don't know, you'll have to talk to your brother's doctor when we see him."

The older Winchester sniffed irritably, wanting only to see his brother.

When the elevator stopped two floors below the level he had been on, Dean slipped out between the doors before they had even opened all the way.

"Where is he?" he asked, looking down either side of the hallway, "Which room is his, Doc?"

"This way," Dr. Gibson said and swept down the hall to the left, Dean jogging after her.

The hunter's heart had started to pound in his chest again and his mouth had gone dry, all the moisture in his body seeming to accumulate on his palms, which were slick and clammy.

Dr. Gibson led Dean all the way down to the end of the hallway before stopping at the last doorway on the right and peering inside. Opening the door a crack, she caught her colleague's attention and Dr. Tang stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Dr. Tang," Dr. Gibson said, "This is Dean Winchester, your patient's brother."

Dean distractedly shook the doctor's hand before launching into his barrage of questions, "Is Sammy going to be okay? Has he woken up yet? What did you have to do? When will he be alright to leave?"

The young doctor held up a hand, "Thank you, Dr. Gibson, goodnight."

The female doctor bade a goodnight to her colleague and Dean before making her way down the hallway, leaving the two men alone.

"Your brother was seriously injured in that landslide," Dr. Tang said and Dean's heart skipped a beat, "Though not critically, his injuries are still very severe."

"Okay," the older Winchester said slowly, trying to convince himself that his brother was going to be fine.

"Your brother suffered the most trauma to the lower portion of his body," Dr. Tang said unnecessarily. Dean tried not to scowl at the young doctor and instead nodded at him to continue.

"He was suffering from broken ribs, a broken arm and severe blood loss," Dr. Tang said, "The bones in his left leg were shattered and required extensive work to repair. He required a series of pins and rods in that leg to help keep the bones in place and prevent them from shifting while they heal."

Dean cringed and the doctor paused.

"I'm okay," he assured Dr. Tang and the man kept going, "Your brother's right leg was also broken, the damage was not so severe, although his hip was chipped as well."

Dean's face must have gone white because the doctor quickly gave him the good news, "There was no spinal damage or head trauma; your brother is very lucky and I am certain that with physical therapy he'll be able to walk again almost as well as he could before the accident."

"Can I see him now?" he asked and Dr. Tang nodded, opening the door.

Dean stepped into the room and his heart wrenched in his chest at the sight of his brother.

Sam lay still and unmoving beneath the white hospital blankets pulled up to his chin. His face, although smooth with sleep, was purple and blue with bruises, his nose clearly broken, his eyes blackened. The gash on his brow held together with stitches. Sam's left arm rested atop the blanket, encased in a clean white cast. His brother's right leg, hidden beneath the thin white blanket appeared to be too bulky for his body but Dean knew it was just another plaster cast. The left leg lay atop the blanket and the hunter cringed at the appendage's lower half, long metal pins sticking right up out of Sam's skin and held in place by a circular metal frame; it looked to Dean like some sort of Medieval torture device rather than one to help bones heal.

Forcing his gaze back up to his brother's face, Dean stepped up beside the bed, catching sight of the IV stand attached to the right side of the bed, one pouch delivering nutrients to his brother and the other, blood.

The hunter slumped into the seat set aside for visitors and reached out, wanting to take his brother's hand but unsure of just which one he could hold- the one with the cast or the one with the IVs- when he heard a low moan escape Sam's lips.

"Sam?" Dean asked, leaning forward eagerly, whispering.

Another groan from Sam and Dean could see his brother's eyelids fluttering, struggling to open.

Reaching out, Dean lightly touched Sam's right wrist, "C'mon, Sammy, c'mon, it's okay. You can do it."

Slowly two green eyes opened to slits, glassy and bloodshot.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, rubbing his brother's wrist.

His sibling's only response was to whimper in pain and for tears to well up in his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat, "Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes but the tears leaked out from underneath the lids and he moaned.

Dean, without taking his eyes away from his brother, reached blindly towards the nurses' call button and pressed it a half-dozen times in quick succession.

"Shhh, Sammy," Dean murmured, feeling his own eyes prick with tears, "A nurse will be here in a moment, just hold on."

The older brother continued to comfort his sibling until he heard soft-soled shoes squeaking on the tile floor outside the door and looked up to see a nurse standing in the doorway.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked and Dean nodded.

"My brother's in pain," he told her, "Can you give him something?"

The nurse nodded once and left the room.

Dean turned back to his brother, lifting a corner of the blanket and gently wiped Sam's face.

"The nurse is going to get you something for the pain," he assured his sibling, "she'll be back in a moment, don't worry."

Instead of the nurse coming back, moments later Dr. Tang stepped into the room.

Dean couldn't help but glare at the man.

"Sam's hurting," he informed the doctor brusquely, "He needs something."

Dr. Tang nodded distractedly as he approached the bed, pulling a pen light from his pocket as he did so.

"His name's Sam?" he asked but Dean didn't answer and he turned his attention to his patient instead.

"Sam? I'm Dr. Tang, I need you to open your eyes for me."

Sam whimpered and moved his hand to grab Dean's fingers, almost crushing them in a tight grip.

"Sam? Open your eyes, Sam."

Dean glared at the doctor.

"Just give him something! Can't you see he's in pain?"

Dr. Tang ignored him and raised the hand not holding the penlight as though he was about to lift Sam's eyelid manually but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

The doctor looked up at Dean and the hunter glowered at him, shoving Dr. Tang away from his brother.

"Get my brother something before you start poking and prodding him," the hunter snarled and the doctor left the room quickly.

"D'nnnn," Sam whimpered and Dean looked concernedly at his sibling.

Hurried footsteps announced the arrival of the nurse Dean had called; she entered the room with a syringe in her hand.

"This will help him sleep and take away most of the pain," she told Dean as she added the liquid in the syringe to the IV line.

"Thank you," the hunter said and returned his gaze back to his brother once again.

W

Dean looked up, rubbing his eyes groggily as the door to his brother's room opened and the nurse from the night before entered with a breakfast tray.

"Try and get him to eat something," she said quietly.

Dean nodded and took the tray from her.

Once the nurse had left Dean reached out and touched his brother's wrist. He would have liked to let Sam sleep for a bit longer but knew his sibling needed to eat.

Sam's eyes opened slowly, clouded and still bloodshot but they quickly focused on Dean's face.

The older Winchester smiled, "Feel up to having some breakfast, Sammy?"

His brother blinked at him but said nothing; he looked tired more than anything else. Dean shoved the moveable table that was attached to the hospital bed by a metal arm until it was positioned in front of his brother.

"Let's get you sitting up," Dean told his brother and pressed the button that would raise the upper part of the bed so that his sibling could sit up.

Once Sam was ready, Dean lifted the lid from the tray of food with a flourish that was lost on his brother and stared down at the rehydrated scrambled eggs, fruit cup, orange juice and toast on the tan-coloured plastic tray.

Dean picked up the plastic fork and raised an eyebrow at his brother; Sam just looked back at him tiredly, his eyes glazed.

Dean scooped some of the scrambled eggs onto the end of the fork and was just about to lift the utensil to his brother's mouth when Sam lifted his right hand.

"You can do it?" Dean asked and Sam took the fork from him with trembling fingers.

The older brother watched as his sibling slowly ate, his movements made uncoordinated with exhaustion and pain.

W

Sam ate all of the eggs and drank all the orange juice, impressing his brother.

"Why don't you get some rest, Sammy?" Dean suggested and his brother closed his eyes instantly, falling asleep within minutes.

Dean smiled and sat back, deciding that he could go for something to eat as well.

Reaching out, he gave his brother's wrist a gentle squeeze before standing and stretching.

He could grab himself some food and a coffee and be back at his brother's side in no time.

Stepping out into the hallway, Dean made his way back to the nurses' station at the end of the corridor and smiled at the familiar young woman behind the desk.

"Can you point me in the direction of the cafeteria?" he asked.

Now that he wasn't overcome with worry for his brother, Dean took the time to appraise the young nurse. She had short, spiky hair the colour of caramel and deep blue eyes. She was wearing hot pink scrubs and a nametag that read 'Tricia'.

"It's on the first floor," Nurse Tricia told Dean, smiling back at him, "Is your brother finished breakfast?"

Dean nodded, "Ate more than I expected."

"That's good," Tricia said and stepped out from around the desk.

"Uh… Dr. Tang isn't going to be coming around anytime soon, is he?" the hunter asked, trying to hide his dislike of the young doctor.

Tricia shook her head, "Unless something's wrong, his job is finished for the most part."

Dean nodded, satisfied, "Thanks."

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly, pain radiating out from every part of his body.

He groaned and was instantly aware of a presence looming over him.

No, not looming, hovering.

"D'n?" Sam ground out; even speaking hurt, and rolled his eyes to try and catch sight of his sibling.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean's concerned face appeared in Sam's line of vision and he felt a warm, calloused palm on his wrist.

"The… we-wendigo?" Sam asked breathlessly, feeling exhausted already and Dean squeezed his wrist comfortingly.

"It's toast," his sibling assured him.

Sam sighed; glad that at least the monster hadn't gotten away.

"Close your eyes, Sam," Dean instructed, "Get some sleep."

Hm… that sounded nice, Sam thought and did as his brother suggested, quickly slipping into unconsciousness once again.

SPN

Dean sipped at his coffee and watched over his brother with the protective instinct of a mother bear.

Although his brother was still exhausted, the meds Tricia had given him the night before appeared to be still doing the trick and were keeping the worse of Sam's pain away.

Dean was glad to hear his brother's voice again, albeit weak and raspy, it indicated that although battered, Sam was not beaten.

Lifting the coffee cup to his lips again, Dean sighed, knowing that it would be a long road to recovery for his brother but he would be with Sam every step of the way. Everything else took a back seat when it came to his brother's welfare.

Cas and the angels could wait, Crowley could wait, and the Mark of Cain could wait… all Dean cared about was getting his brother back onto his feet.


End file.
